The weather changes.

It's funny how your mood can shift, how you can change your mind, how you can lose something you rely on and barely notice or care less. The small change can affect bigger, catastrophic results in your life that you later notice. Looking back, you see the pinpoint, the time when it all turned from sweet to sour. But, when the pinpoint actually occurs, you barely even notice it.

I'm mad at my writing class for reasons that I know are silly and a little stupid, but I just can't face them tonight. Class is already underway, but I'm swamped with work here at the office and just can't break away. And I don't really want to break away.

A year ago, I was occasionally messing around with this guy named Hennessy. The last time I saw him was the day after Halloween. Hennessy's entry into my life and escape from it was, I know now, not a big deal at all. Some groceries I've purchased will likely have a larger effect upon my life than Hennessy in the long run. But, I remember, at the time I wanted Hennessy to matter. And now I just feel stupid about it.

This morning, I put on my winter coat for the first time since maybe March, and I reached into one of the pockets and pulled out a dollar bill and Ash's business card. Now, there have been countless times that, on my way to the tollbooth, I could've used that dollar bill. And I remember when Ash fit into my life and how he fit. And that was a disaster doomed to end badly, though it didn't end as badly as it could have. But it's been months now, and he probably thinks on me even less than I think on him.

I haven't spoken to Movie Theater Stephen in a month. I've erased him from my phone, ended the pathetic, one-sided phone tag that I feel like he put me through. And I fear Movie Theater Stephen's shaping up to be this year's Dax or this year's Snapshot. I wish I'd learned what I should've learned from Dax and Snapshot so that I wouldn't have to learn such a stupid lesson again. Instead, the seasons repeat, and the patterns repeat. A year from now, that coat pocket will likely have a movie ticket stub in it, and I'll reconsider now and think myself wiser for the effort.

Today, some friends of mine e-mailed me to tell me that my new voicemail message is gay and embarassingly annoying, and I'll probably remember the conversations over my voicemail moreso than I'll remember why that voicemail message was changed in the first place. I was upset at 2 a.m. a week ago, frustrated that my work as a writer was going nowhere and would continue to go nowhere and that I'd be in the same place five years from now that I am now and that I'd still not know enough to give up the ghost, and I changed my voicemail 14 times because I couldn't sleep. I was angry, so I used my outgoing message as a means to communicate my frustration.

"Hi, this is Benjamin, failed writer, failed adult and general loser. Fuck you all ..."

"Hi, this is Benjamin, and I'm pretending to be a writer. Please leave a message."

I knew I couldn't leave them like that before I went to sleep or before anyone called, so I came up with the dumbass, benign message that my friends - expecting me to be more creative - derided for its gayness, its lack of bite.

I just ended a phone call with my friend Larry, and he told me not to let these past few days become a defining moment in my life, in my career.

I want something to happen. I want sea change. I am being an obnoxious, egocentric blowhard, though, because I'm not working on what I need to work on. Instead, I'm pouting like a baby.

Oh well, back to the work that I need to do before I can leave the office.